He slowly drew himself to his feet, pulled his outlandish felt hat from its peg, refilled his pipe, and sauntered over into the woods where he soon hit the trail which formed the short cut to Chandler. He had not walked fifteen minutes when he heard voices and presently came upon a little group of people gazing at the carcass of the deer. Terry, the game warden, and Farmer Sands were very much in evidence. “What cher goin’ to do with him; drag him out?” Ira inquired without wasting any words in greeting. “H’lo, Iry,” said the game warden. “Work of the boy scouts; pretty good job, huh?” “Yere, so he was tellin’ me,” drawled Ira. “Plunked him right in the bean, huh?” “Who was tellin’ yer?” inquired Farmer Sands with aggressive shrewdness. “The kid,” drawled Ira. “Yer don’t mean he come back and told yer?” Farmer Sands inquired incredulously. “Uh huh, work of the boy scouts,” said Ira. “I was thinkin’ he might ’a been lyin’ only I don’t believe he knows how ter lie any more’n he knows how to shoot. Got a match, Terry?” Ira leisurely lighted his unwilling pipe and proceeded in his lazy way to examine the carcass. “Plunked him twice, huh—one under the belly there.” Ira wandered about, kicking the bushes while the men fixed a rope about the head of the carcass. “I s’pose you know all ’bout what happened then, if the boy went back to the farm?” Terry called to him. “Me?” Ira answered. “Naah, I don’t know nuthin ’bout what happened. I know the kid lost a hundred dollars he was savin’ up. This here tobaccy package b’long to you, Terry?” “Where’d you find that?” Terry called. “Over here in the bushes. Me and you never smoked such mild tobaccy as Mechanical Delights or whatever it is. Howling Bulldog Plug Cut for us, hey? Do you need any help, you men? Prob’ly the kid was smokin’ Mechanical Delights and didn’t know what he was doin’, that’s my theory. He couldn’t see through the smoke.” He stuffed the empty tinfoil package into his pocket and started ambling through the woods toward Barrett’s. “Thar’s the man ’at’s to blame fer this here vila-shun of the law,” said Farmer Sands shrewdly. “Him’s the man ’at turned that thar youngster’s head—I tell yer that, Terry.” “Like enough,” said Terry. “Him and that scoutin’ craze.” “Maybe it was the scouting craze that made him tell the truth,” said a bystander, evidently a city boarder in the neighborhood. “It seems a queer thing that a young boy should break the law and shoot big game and then go and give himself up.” “No, ’tain’t nuther,” said Farmer Sands. “He got sceered, that’s why he confessed. He was sceered outer his skin soon as he clapped eyes on me an’ Terry. You can’t fool me, by gum! I see jes haow it was the minute I set eyes on the little varmint!”